Perfectly Paranoid
by Argentcoeur
Summary: First order of business: Become a god. Second, kill anyone who glances at you wrong. First is on hold. Commence second order.
1. Chapter 1

**Perfectly Paranoid**

Honey to Snow, Tan to Charcoal, Sun to Moon

A narrow, unused trail lay defenseless as an army of vicious weeds attacked. The vegetation took over and guarded it furiously, green blades and spikes ready to ambush any passer-by that walked through. None came though, allowing the dictators to grow and prosper. Many preferred to follow the more welcoming stone-paved road, which led them to their doom at the hands of bandits. Nowadays, the trail looked more like the untamed wilds than anything else.

A young girl, maybe five or six years of age, skipped along one of the many trails connected to the unfriendly one. Honey curls bounced around her face, lightly touching her sky blue dress before springing back up to the air. Her cerulean orbs glittered with innocence, pure and forgiving. Rosy cheeks added color to her otherwise lightly tanned skin, practically glowing with happiness.

This little girl stopped at the interconnecting trails, unsure about which way to go. As her eyes came across the plant-ravaged path, they stopped. She resumed her skipping down her chosen path, unaware of the few who had made it through alive.

Trees and plants curled inwards, curious to find out who had dared to step into their territory. Dew dripped from leaves, and an eerie silence spread through the area. A ghostly fog settled, yet the girl took no notice. The fog tugged at her soul, beckoning it away with promises. As she skipped, the trail became littered with bodies and bones, all showing no signs of what killed them. The girl still paid no heed, though her eyes clouded over as her mind drifted off someplace far, far away.

On the other end of the trail, a little girl came out. Any who had glanced at her may have said she was about nine or ten years of age, but any who had looked closer wouldn't have been able to determine an approximate age. She walked calmly, yet frowned in annoyance. Long snow locks draped around her face, coming down to fall over a black robe. Her skin blended with the robe, hiding small movements. Her azure eyes focused strictly on the ground before her.

The girl looked up at the sun and winced. She pulled her hood over her head, her face but a shadow.

* * *

This chapter is a sort of prequel smashed up and made into some sort of metaphor.

So the forest-path thing never actually happened, it's just a metaphor for something that happened before this story.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Forgotten realms.

* * *

**Perfectly Paranoid **

Barain found himself bound and gagged. However much he wanted to move around and get a feel for his surroundings, he had an inkling he shouldn't do that.

The cold blade at his throat told him so.

A low growling voice whispered, "Do not make any unnecessary movements and do not raise your voice above mine."

Barain felt the rag in his mouth move, and realized he had been biting down on it. He opened his mouth wider, and the rag scraped his lips at the speed it left. He licked his teeth, noting the rag left a taste similar to wet animal fur. He started to growl, but the blade drawing a drop of blood shut him up.

"From where are you traveling?" The dwarf could feel heavy, labored breathing against his ear.

Barain thought about responding with an insult, but decided against it, seeing as he didn't know the race of the deep voice, and thus couldn't guess what insult would enrage him most. "Waterdeep."

"Where is your destination?"

The dwarf answered in a whisper. The interogator leaned closer to his ear, yet didn't ask him to repeat himself.

"Why are you traveling?"

"We're going to trade."

The blade slowly retracted, and Barain sighed in relief. The rope untied from his hands and slithered away. Free from any immediate threat, the dwarf wheeled around.

By the light of those red eyes, he saw one scaly fist rise and fall.

He opened his eyes to find himself bathed in sweat, the worried faces of his comrades looking down at him, awoken by the screams coming from his parched throat.


End file.
